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Once, years ago, Bennett admitted in a video for Reign socials that he couldn’t resist homemade chocolate chip cookies. Ever since then other players chirped him about it relentlessly on and off the ice. “Fuck off, Novi.”
“Might be time to retire, yes? Then you could bake cookies all day.”
Bennett got in position and glared at the opposing center. “You’re three years older than I am, asshole.”
“Yes, but Russian years. Not the same.”
That made no sense, but Bennett was too exhausted to argue. Then the puck dropped and he won the face-off, his adrenaline spiking, and instantly all thoughts of his age and exhaustion were forgotten. The game did that for him. It took away everything else until all he could focus on was the ice, the puck, the net. He saw the plays, read the defense. Knew where his guys would be without even checking. His feet kept moving, his blades cutting into the smooth surface.
But in the end, it still wasn’t enough.
Carolina was too good, too disciplined, forcing turnovers in the neutral zone and preventing the Reign from making clean zone entries. Toronto had been forced to dump and chase all night, and there wasn’t time to generate enough offense before Carolina wore them down.
The final horn sounded. The Reign quickly skated off the ice and headed for the locker room, eager to put this game behind them. The home crowd had started clearing out halfway through the third, and Bennett couldn’t blame them. The team hadn’t looked good tonight, himself included. He went down the tunnel and lumbered toward the doors, already dreading the post-game scrum when he’d need to answer for the team’s failings.
“Boys seemed tired tonight,” Noah said, glancing over his shoulder at Bennett. “Maybe the club was a bad idea.”
As if Bennett had been given a choice about the team outing at The Loop the night before last. “Maybe,” he allowed. “Or maybe Carolina is better than us.”
“Bite your tongue. We’ll probably have to face them in the conference finals.”
They went through the heavy door that separated the private team spaces from the rest of the arena. Bennett handed his stick and gloves to the equipment manager, then continued into the locker room. He dropped onto the bench in front of his stall and began stripping off his gear. Across the room, Alex Sewell and Jason Pence were laughing and smiling, with Pence even doing a little dance. Like they had something to celebrate. While everyone else looked like they had been kicked in the teeth.
He should let it go. But Bennett was tired and annoyed—mostly at himself for not taking Nico up on the offer of a blowjob at the club.
Another deep chuckle caught his ears as he unlaced his skates, and his control snapped. “Welly! Did we win tonight?”
The entire room went quiet and even the staff paused, surprised at the captain’s outburst. Everyone waited to see what was going to happen next, but Bennett kept loosening his laces.
“No, Cap,” Sewell mumbled.
“JP! Did we win?”
“Uh, no,” Pence said, only slightly louder than Sewell.
“Then what the fuck are you two so happy about?” When Bennett looked up, the two players were exchanging a worried glance, so Bennett pressed. “Come on. Let’s hear it.”
“Nothing, Benny,” Sewell said. “We’re just messing around.”
“Again, why?”
Pence held up his phone. “This hot girl finally messaged me back.”
A woman? That was what they were celebrating? This pissed Bennett off even more. The whole team could talk about hookups, wives. Crushes. Girlfriends. Everyone but Bennett. He had to lie about a fake relationship and keep the truth to himself. Most days he didn’t think about it. But some days, like today, when he had so much other shit in his head, it seemed grossly unfair. “So, your hookups are more important than what happens in this room or on the ice. Is that what you are saying?”
“No, Cap,” Pence said. “Come on. Of course not.”
“Brownie!” Bennett called loudly even though Noah’s stall was directly beside his. “Are we happy after losses against division rivals, especially as we’re nearing the playoffs?”
“Fuck no,” Noah replied. “Tonight fucking sucked.”
“Nyström, you feel like celebrating after that game?”
“No, Cap,” their goalie said, still in his sweaty gear. “I definitely do not.”
Bennett looked up and pointed around the room. “Anyone here happy with how we played tonight? Anyone think this was good enough to reach the Cup final? Anyone feel like fucking laughing?”
No one spoke.
